


Even When the Sun Goes Down

by luna_plath



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Afghan War, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canonical Character Death, Crimes & Criminals, Drama, Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/M, Military, Murder, Murder Mystery, Mystery, North Carolina, Politics, Romance, Sexual Content, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Veterans, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-01-27 16:34:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1717307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luna_plath/pseuds/luna_plath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The murder of Ned Stark shocks all of central North Carolina.  While the police investigate the circumstances surrounding Ned's murder, his daughter Sansa Stark reunites with Jon Snow, an old family friend.  An Afghan War veteran, Snow takes it upon himself to investigate Ned's mysterious death--whatever the cost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Most of the locations/schools in this fic are real. If you can guess where certain events are taking place then I'll write a drabble request : )

The smell of flowers was heady and overwhelming, the intensity of it making Sansa hold her breath as she walked past the large wreaths and bouquets that had been placed in the kitchen by friends of the family. With so many people in the house the air felt stuffy, but opening a window wouldn’t solve the problem, it would only let in the oppressive June heat. She pulled her hair out of the tight knot her mother had coaxed it into, easing the pain in her temples.

Dragging her fingers through her hair, Sansa couldn’t get the voice of Joffrey’s mother out of her head. _Of course it was Catelyn that did it. They said the car window was down, that he knew the person he was speaking to. He was probably having an affair, that’s always how these things happen._

Hearing Cersei Lannister whisper about her parents had made Sansa want to turn around and shake her, but she’d walked into the kitchen to get away from everyone and now she could hear her aunt Lysa talking to Petyr Baelish in the hall. As quietly as she could, Sansa opened the door to the laundry room and slipped inside.

She took one of the recently folded towels out of the basket of clean clothes and spread it on the tile floor. Sansa kicked off her heels and pulled out her cell phone, trying to come up with a reply to Joffrey, who had asked if she minded that he’d left the wake early. She couldn’t think of anything to say.

_I need you_ , Sansa thought, but that wasn’t really true. Joffrey had never been the best at these kinds of moments. Once, after a party, they’d had a fight and she had started crying. Sansa remembered Joffrey telling her that they would talk when she was ready to stop being so damn emotional.

She pressed the button at the top of the phone to turn off the 3G. Maybe if she just stayed in this laundry room she could forget that her father was dead, that there was a wake happening in the middle of her house, that her boyfriend of two years couldn’t be bothered to comfort her. Sansa wiped at her eyes with the towel, leaving black smudges all over the clean fabric.

\--

Jon clutched the glass of scotch in his hand like he was holding on to a talisman, his knuckles white from the strain. 

He was standing with Robb, listening white Robert Baratheon waxed poetic about his time in the Marines and feeling out of place in his black suit and tie. Jon took a deep swallow of his scotch and nearly choked on it when he felt his cell phone start to vibrate in his pocket.

“You alright?” Robb asked.

Jon nodded and took another swallow.

Robert Baratheon put his meaty hand on Jon’s shoulder, his breath reeking of liquor.

“Robb tells me you were an Army Ranger,” he said, admiration clear from his tone.

“Yeah. In Afghanistan.”

“Good on you,” he replied, roughly patting Jon on the back. “Ned told me you were in the service. He was very proud—of both of you.”

Thinking about Mr. Stark made Jon’s stomach turn in a way that reminded him of loosing his footing. Despite attending the funeral that morning, Jon couldn’t find it within himself to believe that Ned Stark, the man who had been like a father to him, was truly dead.

“I tell you, Snow, if I find out who did this to Ned then I’ll give you a call. Rangers are supposed to be top marksmen, right?”

“Right,” Jon said, nausea creeping up the back of his throat.

Robert nodded to them before leaving Jon and Robb’s company, his broad frame easily parting the crowd.

“Ignore him,” Robb said quietly. “He’s an old drunk, he doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

“You’ve thought about it though, haven’t you?” Jon said, half-wondering if he was crazy for imagining scenarios where Ned Stark’s murderer was discovered, dead from a gunshot wound of his own, comeuppance for robbing a much-loved man of his life. 

“I don’t know,” Robb said, looking pained. “It doesn’t seem real to me. Even now, I feel like this is happening to someone else.”

Jon had heard those words form people before, but usually those people were veterans, people who had seen their friends die or suffered life-altering injuries. He drained the rest of his drink and pulled out his cell phone. Surprisingly, the display said he’d missed a call from his father. He’d been expecting a routine call from his roommate Sam, who always became worried sick about Ghost not eating, even if it was typical behavior for the dog whenever Jon had to spend the night away.

“I’ll be right back, I’ve got to call someone,” he said.

Jon looked for a quiet place where he could call his father back but there were more people in the Stark residence than he had anticipated. Hoping that it would be deserted, he opened the door to the laundry room and quickly realized that he was almost certainly intruding on Sansa, who was sitting on the tile floor with no shoes and makeup streaming down her face.

“I’m so sorry,” Jon said, immediately. “I can go, but, are you okay?”

Sansa sniffed and wiped at the corner of her eyes with a stained towel. “It’s okay, Jon. I’m fine.”

Turning around, he ducked into the mostly deserted kitchen, pouring a glass of water and finding a box of tissues.

“Here,” he said, returning with the water and tissues. Feeling sheepish, he added, “I thought you might need them.”

“Thank you,” she said, still pretty despite her bloodshot eyes and running mascara.

“Sorry, I’ll go.”

“No,” she said, making Jon pause in the doorway. “You can stay. I just couldn’t stay out there any more. The way people talk…”

Jon knew exactly what she meant. He eased the door closed behind him, leaving it barely cracked, open enough to let him know if someone was in the hall but affording them some privacy. Jon eased down onto the tile floor, leaning against the washing machine with his legs stretched out in front of him.

After drinking half the glass of water Sansa offered it to him.

“You keep it, I’m fine,” he assured her.

She wrapped her arms around her middle, looking like she was physically holding herself together.

“What happened?” Jon asked, hoping that he wasn’t being too prying. 

He considered asking Sansa how she was doing but the question seemed moot considering that morning’s funeral.

“It was just something Mrs. Cersei said,” she admitted, not meeting his eyes. “My dad and her never got along, it’s a stupid thing to be upset about.”

He was surprised to hear her share such details. Growing up, Jon had never been especially close with Sansa. He and Robb had been inseparable, and he’d gotten to know Bran and Arya very well after so much time in the Stark household, but Jon had never developed the same bond with Sansa. She had always seemed more interested in her friends from cheerleading and the gang of wealthy boys from the upper grades.

“You’re not wrong to be upset,” Jon said, noting how she fully looked at him at that. “Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

Sansa closed her eyes and sighed, her crossed arms falling slack at her sides. Her blue eyes surrounded by smudged eyeliner, she asked, “Does it every get any better?”

“No,” he said sadly. “Over time you start to forget, but I don’t know if that’s better or worse.”

\--

By the time Sansa left the laundry room she and Jon had exchanged cell numbers. They were going to be at the same university in August, and he’d urged her to get in touch with him if she ever just wanted to talk.

“Even if it’s not about all this,” he’d told her, gesturing to everything around them with one of his shoulders.

By the time she returned to the wake most of the guests were leaving. Sansa saw her uncle Benjen walking Robert Baratheon to his car, choosing to drive him home instead of allowing the obviously drunk man behind the wheel. Robb was sitting at the kitchen table with his suit coat over the back of the chair, a plate of uneaten food in front of him, their Aunt Lysa going on and on about how any of them were welcome to come stay with her over the summer.

Spending time with her little cousin Robert was the last thing Sansa wanted to do, but Robb was polite enough not to reply. Lysa hugged each of them, even Gendry, who had stuck by Arya’s side during the entire funeral service and wake. It was then that Sansa realized that Joffrey had left without even saying goodbye to her.

“I think I’m going to lie down,” she said, but no one seemed to be paying any attention.

On her way to the stairs Sansa saw her mother sitting in the dinning room with her uncle Jon, one of her father’s closest friends and her father’s partner at Stark and Arryn. She knew what they were most likely talking about, but Sansa could not stop to listen, she couldn’t even allow herself to think about it. Taking the stairs two at a time, Sansa bit her lip, hard, trying not to remember the horrible details surrounding her father’s death.

Ned Stark had been murdered in the driver’s seat of his parked car. He had stayed late to work on a big case and hadn’t even left the parking lot of the office when an unknown gunman fired six rounds into his chest and neck. One of the bullets had gone through his jaw and trachea. It was why they hadn’t been able to have an open-casket funeral. 

Sansa shut herself in her room and, even though it was only mid-afternoon, crawled under her white fluffy down comforter. She was still in the dress she’d worn that day and it would surely get wrinkled like this, but she didn’t care. Sansa swiped the touch screen of her phone and began texting a message to Joffrey.

_I don’t think we should date anymore._

She hit send and turned off her phone. On the nightstand were two small, round pills. Her mother had given her some Ativan to calm her down before they went to the service that morning, but Sansa hadn’t taken it. She needed them now. Sansa swallowed them dry and pressed her face into the pillow, trying to cry as quietly as possible before she drifted off to sleep.

\--

The drive from the state capitol to his home was short. Jon tried to pay attention to the traffic in front of him but he was distracted the whole time, thinking about what Robert Baratheon had said at the wake. By the time Jon got home he had a headache, his dress shirt was plastered to his skin, and the mid-afternoon heat was making him sweat underneath his collar.

He opened the front door to find Ghost, his pure white German shepherd, eagerly waiting for him. Jon crouched down and let the dog lick him a few times before the animal rolled onto his back for a belly rub.

“I missed you too,” Jon said.

He dropped his overnight bag in the bedroom before wrapping his knuckles on the doorframe of Sam’s room. Jon heard a muffled “come in” in reply.

Opening the door, he asked, “You studying? I just wanted to let you know I got back.”

Sam Tarly, one of Jon’s oldest friends and current roommate, looked up from his anatomy textbook.

“I didn’t even hear you come in. How was the funeral? How’s Robb?”

Jon shrugged. “The funeral was fine. I hadn’t seen most of those people since before mom died. I told Robb he could come stay here if he wanted to, figured he might want to get away from all of that.”

Tugging at his tie, he said, “I think I’m going to get a shower.”

However, instead of heading for the bathroom Jon went into his bedroom, Ghost hot on his heels. He shed his suit jacket and sat on the edge of the bed, overwhelmed by just how quiet the late Sunday afternoon truly was.

He pulled open the drawer of his nightstand and pushed aside an old photo album before his hand found the familiar grip of his Glock G22. It had been the first major purchase Jon made when he came back from Afghanistan. His father had offered to send him to a therapist when his time in the service was over, but Jon slept fine knowing that he had a gun within arm’s reach. 

_I tell you, Snow, if I find out who did this to Ned then I’ll give you a call._

He couldn’t get Robert Baratheon out of his head. Jon didn’t know who had killed Mr. Stark, but he couldn’t deny the feelings of sadness, anger, and confusion that gnawed at him. It wasn’t right that someone as good as Robb’s dad had been murdered. Ned Stark had been the only person to look out for him after his mother died, and when he joined the Air Force the Starks had sent him letters and packages and offered to let him stay with them when he’d first gotten back from his deployment.

Jon put the gun back in the drawer, knowing that Mr. Stark wouldn’t want him to go after someone on his own, even considering the circumstances. In the Rangers he’d become an excellent shot and that knowledge only made him feel all the more bothered by the fact that Ned Stark’s murderer was able to go free while Robb and Bran and Mrs. Catelyn were left with their grief. He thought of Sansa in the laundry room, crying over a mean-spirited comment from her boyfriend’s mother at her father’s own funeral. 

Jon threw his tie on the bed and shut himself in the bathroom. He started the shower, feeling sweat drip down the back of his neck in all the humidity. When his mother died there hadn’t been a bullet-riddled body and a killer walking free, just an illness that he didn’t understand. Jon didn’t know if he could help Sansa at all, but he didn’t want her to feel as alone as he’d felt, not when Mr. Stark had been like a father to him.

\--

Summer arrived in North Carolina with all its unforgiving heat and sweltering humidity. Jon got up at six thirty every morning to go for a run and by the time he made it back to his doorstep an hour later, Ghost panting at his side, it had already begun to get hot. Before going inside he’d taken to turning on the water hose and rinsing himself down while the dog tried to drink from the running stream.

He and Sam both had summer classes but Jon still managed to end up at the bar with his friends a couple times a week. One night he met up with Pyp, Grenn, and Satin for tacos and beer and Jon fell completely silent while his friends talked about the different items on the menu. The restaurant had a TV mounted behind the bar and the evening news was playing, with Ned Stark’s face displayed on the screen.

“Look at this,” Jon said, nodding to the news.

His friends fell silent. He tried to hear what the reporter was saying but it was neigh impossible with so much background noise. However, Jon couldn’t fail to miss the headline in all caps at the bottom of the newscast:

> AUTHORITIES STILL LOOKING FOR KILLER OF LOCAL ATTORNEY. CASE STILL OPEN.

An image of the law firm where Mr. Stark had worked came on screen. The headline at the bottom remained the same. 

“They still don’t know what happened?” Grenn asked.

Jon shook his head, a bitter taste in his mouth, but before he could say anything else their waiter came up to the table for their order. Once he’d ordered his food Jon tried to see if there was anything else about Ned Stark on the news, but the report was covering Jaime Lannister and his campaign for governorship.

“The election isn’t for another year. Lannister isn’t even conformed as a candidate,” Pyp said, exasperated. 

“He will be,” Jon said darkly. He’d seen Jaime and Tywin Lannister at the wake and Jon remembered how Joffrey used to talk about his dad at school, like it was inevitable that his father would be governor someday.

Looking at the picture on the news of Jaime and Cersei Lannister with their three children, he had to force himself not to scowl. It was wrong that people like the Lannisters were whole and safe while Robb’s family had someone they loved more than anything taken from them.

\--


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys are interested in getting news about my progress on current chapters feel free to check out [my tumblr](http://lunaplath.tumblr.com/). Sometimes I'll post notes/tidbits from chapters. Thank you to everyone who left comments/thoughts/kudos, I really appreciate it : )

Tyrion stretched in his office chair before drinking the last of his coffee. He’d just gotten off the phone with his father and he could already feel the slow build of a headache in his temples. It was only ten a.m. but Tyrion was already feeling restless, his muscles growing tired from remaining in the same position for hours on end.

He’d meant to take his father’s call that evening—their talks always left him feeling grumpy and drained and Tyrion had hoped to get some work done before being put in a sour mood.

There was a knock on his office door. Expecting it be the student who had emailed him about a research position, he straightened up some of the papers on his desk and sat up in his chair.

“Come in,” Tyrion called.

A dark haired young man entered his office, pausing in the doorway before introducing himself.

“Hi,” he said. “I’m Jon Snow, the one who sent you the emails. Is it all right if I…?”

Nodding, Tyrion said, “Please, have a seat.”

Jon took one of the two empty chairs in front of his desk. Pushing his glasses up his nose, Tyrion leaned back and took a good look at Snow. The boy was clean-shaven and he sat with his back straight, reminding Tyrion of a soldier at attention, even if the setting was markedly more casual. 

“Tell me about yourself,” Tyrion said. “Are you in a graduate program?”

“No sir, I’m a junior in the criminal justice department. A lot of people seem to realize that I’m older, though. I was in the military for four years before coming here for school.”

“I don’t get a lot of students who are interested in research, most of them want to go into the police force. What are you interested in doing after school?” Tyrion asked.

“Once I get my degree I’d like to go to law school,” Snow said.

“Have you already taken statistics? Are you in research methods?”

“I took stats last year but I’m in research methods right now.”

“Excellent,” Tyrion said, grinning. “You don’t have to look so serious. I always need more research assistants, and your interest automatically makes you more qualified than most of the students in the department.”

Snow gave him a half-smile, instantly taking a few years off his appearance.

“The only other assistant I have is Penny, but she’ll be working on her own research in the fall so you’ll have to learn as much as you can from her in the mean time. We have lab meetings once a week, normally I bring coffee and bagels.”

Snow gave him a real smile then.

“What are you researching right now?” He asked.

“I’m looking at the rate of crimes being solved in the past five years compared to previous years, and I’ll be breaking down the types of cases that stay open, which crimes take longer to solve, things like that. It will get a bit technical, but I’ll mostly need you to help me gather data. When it comes time to crunch the numbers you can be as involved as you like, I know some students don’t feel very comfortable with stats at this level.”

“I want to learn as much as I can even if I’m not very useful.”

Tyrion laughed. He got the boy’s contact information and showed him a calendar of times when he could come into the lab. Once they had the details straightened out, Tyrion walked him upstairs where the office space was for his research. The room was smaller than a classroom but they had enough space for several computers, filing cabinets, a printer, scanner, and a white board with tasks written in blue expo marker. 

“We’ll start with data entry tomorrow, so be here when you get out of class. If I’m not available then Penny will at least be here, she knows how to everything works in this lab.”

Snow promised to be there by noon the next day and he made sure to shake Tyrion’s hand before leaving. Yes, the boy had certainly been in the military, that much was obvious from his posture and his use of “yes sir” but he thought Jon Snow would be a good assistant, even if the young man was too serious most of the time to crack a smile.

\--

Sansa had spent most of the past month with Jeyne’s family at the beach—they had been kind enough to delay their vacation until after her father’s funeral so she could come with them. Her mom had encouraged her to go, even if the only thing Sansa wanted to do was lay in bed and not get up.

Jeyne Poole had been her best friend since middle school, and even now, with Jeyne going to a small teacher’s college in the mountains, they still tried to do something together every summer. Sansa was sad to come home, knowing that when she walked through her parents’ house her father wouldn’t be there. She wouldn’t hear him come through the front door and drop his keys on the side table like he had every night of her childhood, she wouldn’t come downstairs on Saturday mornings to see him watching the news with his cup of coffee, and she would never get to hug him again after a long semester at school.

Sansa’s university was only twenty minutes from home, but she felt guilty for starting the July summer session instead of spending time with her mother and her siblings. Despite her worries, her mother had insisted that Sansa move into her new apartment and try to do things with her roommates.

“We have to carry on, sweetheart,” her mom had said. 

Sansa was just as confused about what that meant as she had been the day of her father’s funeral.

\--

She checked the name of the coffee shop twice before walking inside. Sansa had never been here before but it looked like the kind of place where students liked to hang out: there was a rack with local newspapers and copies of _Mother Jones_ on the shelves, large bay windows that looked out onto the street, and a patron in flannel playing chess with a friend.

She saw Jon seated by the window, a paperback and a cup of coffee on the table in front of him. Sansa ordered a drip coffee and joined him at the table.

“Boo,” she said, sitting across from him. “You don’t look surprised.”

Shrugging, Jon said, “I saw you come in.”

“I didn’t think you were paying attention. What are you reading?”

Jon looked down and tossed his book into his bag. “A book about prisons. We don’t have to talk about that though.”

Sansa blew on the surface of her coffee. “Are you reading it for a class?”

She’d always thought of Jon as very difficult to read, but he surprised her when a bit of color became visible in his cheeks.

“No, just because. I think it’s interesting but I don’t want to bore you.”

It suddenly occurred to her than Jon was very handsome when he wasn’t forcing himself to wear a neutral expression. Startled by the thought, Sansa tried to take a sip of her coffee and ended up burning her tongue.

“It’s okay. I like reading too. I have a bunch of books on my kindle that I kept meaning to read this summer but I just haven’t gotten to them,” she said, trying to make conversation.

One thing that Sansa quickly noticed about Jon was that he actually looked at her when she spoke. He didn’t fidget in his seat or absently glance at his phone—in other words, he was nothing like Joffrey.

“What have you been doing for the past couple of weeks? Robb came to stay for a while, he said you were out of town,” Jon said.

“I went with Jeyne Poole’s family on vacation. I didn’t really want to go, but mom said it would be better for me.”

“Was it?”

“Was it what?” Sansa asked.

“Was it better for you?”

She swallowed and bit her lower lip, surprised that he would speak to her so directly, but Sansa supposed that Jon had always been that way.

“I think so. I feel guilty though, for leaving mom to take care of Arya and Bran and Rickon.”

“It sounds like your mom’s okay,” Jon replied, leaning his forearms on the table. “I guess it wasn’t really like that when my mom died. There wasn’t anyone to take care of.”

“What about your dad?” Sansa asked, doing a poor job of hiding her curiosity.

He shrugged, taking a sip from his coffee cup before answering.

“He had his own family. My parents were never married. My mom was the other woman—he’s got a wife and kids and everything in D.C.”

“Oh,” she said, feeling embarrassed for asking. “I never knew. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“Robb never told you? It’s okay, I don’t care if people know.”

Sansa shook her head. “He never said anything. But if your dad’s alive then why didn’t you move closer to him? Why did you join the military?”

“It was just something I had to do. I wanted a job where I would be so busy I wouldn’t have time to think about what had happened. It’s not like my dad and I were ever close.”

Jon stood up and announced he was getting another cup of coffee. He asked her if she wanted anything but Sansa declined, having only drunk half of what was in front of her. As he approached the counter she realized that she had just learned more about Jon Snow in a fifteen-minute conversation than in over a decade of knowing each other.

While he was walking back to their table Sansa tucked her hair behind her ear, trying to get a good look at Jon without him noticing. He was taller than she remembered, with a good frame and distinctive gray eyes that were impossible to ignore.

They talked for another forty minutes about classes and friends and all the typical things that made up the life of a college student. Sansa didn’t even notice the time until she looked out the window and saw the pinky-orange hue of the sky.

“It’s late.”

“I’m parked around the block if you need a ride,” Jon said.

“Yeah. Actually, that would be great.”

As they were leaving she looked at the magazine rack again, seeing something that made her stop and grab the last remaining copy of that day’s _News & Observer_.

Her uncle Jon’s picture was on the front page of the paper, along with a glaring headline.

> ATTORNEY JON ARRYN NOW UNDER INVESTIGATION FOR MURDER OF EDDARD STARK

Sansa tossed the paper back on the magazine rack. She felt a sharp buzzing in her hands, like her arms had fallen asleep and the blood flow was just returning, the floor and the walls looking fake and out of focus. She took in a shaky breath and felt herself grow increasingly dizzy. 

Sansa felt a hand around her shoulders—in her distraction she had forgotten that Jon was there. He guided her outside and onto the sidewalk, seemingly unfazed by her behavior, his presence surprisingly comforting.

There weren’t many students out while they walked the block and half to Jon’s car. Sansa was grateful that there wasn’t an audience to witness her at this moment except for Jon, who would hopefully forget her bout of dizziness had ever happened.

It wasn’t that late, but summer was always a quieter time in their college town than during the academic year. He opened the door to his car for her, another surprise, another thing that made Jon Snow wildly different from Joffrey. Somehow the clean interior of Jon’s car calmed her, placing a physical barrier between herself and the newspaper with her uncle’s picture.

He got in the driver’s seat but made no motion to start the car’s engine.

“I get those too sometimes.”

Sansa looked up, her hands knotting themselves in the fabric of her jeans. “What?”

“Panic attacks,” Jon said, his tone casual, like her behavior wasn’t strange at all.

“Oh. I guess I was having one, wasn’t I?”

She’d had a panic attack before taking the SAT her junior year of high school, but the test had gone fine and Sansa couldn’t remember having one since, but it didn’t seem strange that they had come back, not when she really thought about everything that had happened the past few months.

“It’s just—I try not to think about what happened to dad most of the time, and then something will happen and it’s the _only_ thing I can think about no matter how hard I try.”

Jon didn’t say anything but when she looked at him she saw how closely he understood.

“You want me to take you home?” he asked.

“Yeah, thanks,” Sansa said.

She gave him her address and forced herself to take several full, deep breaths, closing her eyes and letting her body relax to the sound of the car. She’d heard that breathing into a paper bag could help with panic attacks, but Sansa had never needed to carry one, and she didn’t want to bother Jon about it when he was being so nice.

When they reached her apartment building Sansa hesitated before opening the car door, unsure of what to say.

“Can I text you?” she said, the words spilling out of her mouth before she could think better of it.

“Yeah, any time.”

Sansa unbuckled her seatbelt and climbed out of the car. 

Leaning down, she asked, “Did Robb ask you to check up on me?”

Jon’s mouth curved into a half-smile. “Yes, but I would have anyway.”

She believed him.

\--

As soon as Sansa unlocked the front door Myranda Royce, her friend and roommate, greeted her.

“Hey San, where have you been? Out with Joff?”

Taking a deep breath, Sansa put her purse on the kitchen table and sat down on the couch, feeling especially tired all the sudden.

“No, I met up with Jon. He’s one of my brothers friends.”

Myranda was a sweet girl but she loved to gossip, and at the mention of another boy she joined Sansa on the couch, interest clear in her posture.

“Jon who? Is he someone I know?” she asked.

“Jon Snow. You probably haven’t met him, he was best friends with my brother Robb when we were growing up. We got coffee together.”

Now that she was home Sansa felt markedly less anxious, even if she didn’t feel like sharing every piece of information with Myranda.

“Was it a date? Does Joffrey know you’re hanging out with other guys?”

“It wasn’t a date,” Sansa said definitively. “We got coffee, we talked, he gave me a ride home. Me and Joffrey are on a break, anyways.”

“Since when?” Myranda asked, her eyes growing big. These were exactly the kind of details her friend loved to hear.

Sansa shrugged, saying, “I don’t know. When my dad died Joff was never there. We dated for two years—I guess I thought he would care more.”

“Aw, sweetie.”

Myranda put her arms around Sansa, holding her close in a tight hug.

“Want a mimosa? I just bought a bottle of champagne.”

“Why not,” Sansa said, kicking off her sandals and tucking her legs underneath her.

Already bustling in the kitchen, Myranda told her all about her day and the assignments she’d gotten and the dress she was planning to wear to her sorority’s next mixer. Sansa wished she were more interested, but all she wanted to do was lay on her bed, close her eyes, and just think. Her mind kept returning to the feeling of Jon’s arm around her shoulders and the unquestioning way he’d helped her.

Accepting the drink from her friend, Sansa made some excuse about needing to study. She was tired and everything about that evening had left her feeling drained and confused.

\--


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My version of Shae is inspired more by the show than canon. Also, Jon/Sansa is the main pairing in this fic, even though there are a lot of side pairings going on.

Sansa stood in front of the bathroom mirror with her makeup bag, swiping lip-gloss over her mouth and pressing her lips together. She brushed through her hair while Myranda chatted to her from across the hall, wondering if the white top she wore looked wrong against her pale skin.

“You look nice,” Myranda said, hands on her hips. She looked Sansa up and down suspiciously. “Are you all dressed up just for class?”

“Do I look dressed up?” Sansa asked, an unopened tube of mascara in her hand.

She wore a white camisole under her sheer, blousy top, along with a pair of jeans what were ripped at the knee. Her mother didn’t approve of these pants because Sansa hadn’t torn them herself—Catelyn Stark saw no sense in buying jeans that already had holes—but Sansa thought they made the outfit look more casual.

“You just have on more makeup than usual, that’s all.”

She frowned at the mascara in her hand, “Does it look bad?”

“No! Of course not.”

Biting her lower lip, she said, “I’m meeting Jon for lunch after class.”

Sansa didn’t want to admit it in front of Myranda, but she had been spending more and more time with Jon Snow. After the time they got coffee together she hadn’t wanted to see him, she’d felt embarrassed that she’d had a panic attack in front of one of her brother’s older friends, but one day she had been studying in the library and they had run into each other. Jon sat with her at the study table and they spent at least two hours talking. Sansa had gotten very little studying done that day, but she had learned that she and Jon had more in common than she thought. 

He’d told her that he had panic attacks too, that he would see or hear something that reminded him of Afghanistan and his chest would get tighter and tighter until he couldn’t breathe.

“Have you been to a doctor?” she’d asked.

Jon had just shaken his head. “No. I know people who have, but I don’t want any medication and I don’t like telling people about this.”

“You’re telling me about it.”

He had blushed then, a half-smile spreading across his face. “But you’re different.”

Sansa decided against the mascara and brushed her hair one last time, dabbing a bit of perfume under her neck and on her wrists before grabbing her bag for class.

“When do I get to meet this Jon Snow?” Myranda teased.

She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks, but Sansa pretended that she wasn’t embarrassed. “I don’t know, soon maybe? We’re just friends.”

“Right. I hope you have a nice time at your friendly lunch.”

\--

By the time Sansa got out of class it had already grown hot and sticky, but she hardly noticed as a curl of excitement began to twist in her belly. They were meeting at a restaurant called Nosh and, surprisingly, she was the first one to arrive. Normally Jon would be there before her and he would always choose a spot that gave him a clear view of the door and anyone who came in or out. She guessed it was one of those things he hadn’t been able to let go of from Ranger school.

She found a table that had a good view of the entrance and ordered a diet coke. By the time her drink arrived Jon was walking toward her, his bag on his shoulder and his dark curls pushed out of his face.

“You’re early,” he said, giving her the small half-smile that made the back of her neck tingle.

Sansa dragged her finger over the damp surface of her glass. “I came here as soon as I got out of marketing.”

“It’s still hard for me to think of you as a marketing major,” he said, ordering an iced tea with lemon.

“Why?”

Shrugging, he said, “I always thought you would end up in fashion. I remember you sewing all the time when you were in high school.”

“I wanted to study fashion, but I thought marketing would be more practical. I still sew all the time—I made this shirt, actually.”

Sansa bit her lower lip as he looked at her, his gray eyes making her feel like she was the only one in the room.

“It’s pretty.” Not fully looking at her, Jon said, “I mean it’s pretty on you.”

Hearing his words made every part of her feel sharp and tingly, like she’d touched a live wire, the charge snaking up her spine and making her skin flush.

Before she had a chance to say anything else the waiter came and asked for their orders. Talking to Jon had distracted Sansa so much that she hadn’t even looked through the menu.

\--

After a long day teaching classes and working in the lab the last thing Tyrion Lannister wanted to do was go to a family dinner, but his life would be much more difficult if he refused, so once he got home from work he changed into a fresh button-down and prepared himself for a meal at his brother’s house.

Shae had changed into a sundress and sandals, a marked difference from the scrubs and comfortable shoes he normally saw her in. Tyrion was proud that his wife was a surgeon, even if it meant living with conflicting schedules, long work hours, and calls to go into surgery at two in the morning.

“Do you want me to drive?” she asked, taking in his careworn appearance.

“No, that’s alright,” Tyrion said. He _was_ tired, but Shae was probably more sleep deprived than himself and he felt guilty at the thought of asking her to drive.

If they had only been having dinner with his brother and the children then Tyrion would have been delighted at attend, but he had never gotten along well with his sister-in-law, no matter how devoted she seemed to Jaime, and his father would certainly be there as well. It was no secret that Tyrion was not the son Tywin Lannister had hoped for, and that fact had become painfully obvious now that Jaime was running for governor while Tyrion tried to teach police process to disinterested students at what his father called “an average state school.”

As they stood on the doorstep to Jaime and Cersei’s extravagant home, Shae reached for his hand and squeezed it. Tyrion squeezed back in gratitude.

Myrcella opened the door and let them in, full of questions for Shae about college and medical schools. His niece would soon be a senior in high school and she wanted to be a doctor—she was always asking his wife questions about biology and the work it took to become a surgeon. 

Leading them into the living room, Myrcella said, “I’m just worried about getting into schools. I want to apply to Duke but it would be terrible if I didn’t get in.”

“Don’t worry too much, if anyone is smart enough to get into a good school it’s you,” Tyrion said.

Myrcella smiled at him. She looked very much like her mother, he thought, but Tyrion had never seen Cersei wear such a kind, genuine expression.

The rest of the family was waiting in the living room. Tyrion and Shae both hugged Tommen, who got up to greet them, while only saying hello to Joffrey, who seemed more interested in his cell phone than their arrival.

“Kind of you to finally join us,” his father said, a glass of scotch in his hand.

“I’m sorry, it’s all my fault,” said Shae. “I was late in getting home and I didn’t want to show up in my scrubs from work.”

“Now that we’re all here why don’t we get started,” Cersei said. She was smiling but Tyrion knew better—that smile only hid her annoyance with their lateness.

“Let me get you a drink,” Jaime offered, sensing the tension in the room.

As his brother poured him a generous glass of liquor Shae helped Cersei and Myrcella bring the food into the dining room. Everyone took their seats and Cersei had to remind Joffrey several times to put his cell phone away before he complied. They all bowed their heads while Tywin said grace, even Tyrion, who hadn’t stepped foot in a church since his uncle Kevan’s funeral fifteen years ago.

While his father talked with Cersei about an upcoming event for Jaime’s campaign, Tyrion turned to his two nephews.

_They couldn’t be more different_ , he thought, noting Tommen’s easygoing expression and Joffrey’s aura of boredom and contempt. 

“Tommen, I hear that you’ve become the new star of the lacrosse team at school,” Tyrion said.

Tommen lit up, eager to talk about his team and his best friend Bran Stark, who also played with him.

“Bran, isn’t he the younger brother of that girl, Sansa?”

“Yeah, he is,” Tommen said quickly, but not quick enough for Tyrion to miss Joffrey’s sour expression.

“Is something going on there?” Tyrion asked. “Aren’t you and Sansa dating?”

“We’re on a break,” Joffrey said, irritated. “Ever since her father died she hasn’t wanted to do anything.”

Tommen and Myrcella both looked afraid to say anything, glancing at their older brother before returning to their food.

“You can hardly blame the girl,” Tyrion said sympathetically.

Scowling, Joffrey said, “I can blame her for going out with other guys when we aren’t really broken up.”

He got up from the table, leaving his chair pulled out and, from the sound of his footsteps, retreating upstairs.

“Look what you did,” Cersei said angrily, looking like she wanted to follow her oldest son upstairs.

Jaime placed a hand on the small of her back. “Let him be alone for a bit. I’m sure he’ll come down later.”

Cersei sat back down but not before throwing a nasty look his way.

Finishing his glass of scotch, his father said, “Joffrey’s better off without the Stark girl. He doesn’t need to be mixed up with her family, not with what happened to her father.”

In Tyrion’s opinion, one could hardly hold it against Sansa Stark that her father had been murdered, but having already caused enough upset that evening he kept his thoughts to himself. Mirroring his father, Tyrion finished his drink. As far as he was concerned the evening couldn’t be over soon enough.

\--

The fall session began in mid August, making Sansa feel like the summer had practically disappeared. During the last few weeks of the July session she had made an effort to spend more time with Myranda and her friend Mya from class, even if she still found herself hanging out with Jon nearly ever weekend. 

Mya Stone was a business major from a small town in the mountains that Sansa had never heard of, but she told great jokes and was the most athletic girl Sansa had ever met. One evening they’d met in the library to study for a marketing final, and when it had come time to leave Mya had thrown her gym bag over her shoulder while Sansa stood outside of the library to wait on a friend.

“I’ll wait with you until they get here,” Mya offered. “You don’t want to stand outside by yourself, it’s dark.”

Smiling, Sansa agreed. Despite her tough exterior Mya was a sweet girl who tried to take care of everyone, especially her friends.

“Who are you meeting up with?” Mya asked.

“I’m going over to Jon’s house to hang out for a bit.”

“Is this the Jon that Myranda told me about?” she asked, playfully waggling her eyebrows.

Sansa felt her cheeks heat up from the teasing. Thankfully, it was past nine o’clock and dark enough that her friend wouldn’t be able to notice.

“Yes. We’ll probably just end up watching a movie and drinking beer, I swear,” Sansa explained.

Before Mya could tease her anymore Jon met them in front of the library, wearing a v-necked shirt and jeans and making Sansa stare at the extra bit of exposed skin on his chest. A few of his dark curls hung in his eyes and she had to remind herself not to reach forward and brush them out of the way, that Mya was there watching them.

“Hey,” Jon said, his car keys in his hand. “You all finished?”

“Yeah. Jon, this is my friend Mya.”

Mya introduced herself and said goodnight to the both of them, heading in the direction of the gym. Sansa could tell that her friend was full of questions but she was grateful that Mya had chosen to keep them to herself for the present. 

Sansa knew that she would have to tell her friends more about him eventually. Still unsure of how to define her friendship with Jon, Sansa hadn’t talked to Joffrey about their relationship since they’d gone on a break. She wasn’t sure if Jon even liked her, if he thought of her as his friend’s little sister who needed to be taken care of or as someone he liked in her own right.

As August rolled into September the situation only grew more complicated. Sansa knew that she was bound to run into Joffrey on campus, they shared a lot of the same friends and he was a business major, meaning there was a chance, however small, that they would be in classes together. She continued to see articles about her uncle in the papers and the questions, stares, and poorly concealed looks from classmates became more than Sansa could handle—and all of this was in addition to her anxiety over what to do about Joffrey.

Eventually Mya and Myranda wore her down until, after two or three glasses of white zinfandel, she told them everything. Myranda asked her lots of questions about how Jon acted around her, about his body language and the way he looked at her and was she _sure_ that she hadn’t gotten some kind of vibe from Jon? Mya stayed silent during the whole conversation, but once Sansa and Myranda had run out of impressions to discuss she flat out told Sansa to pick Jon Snow.

“He’s ten times nicer than Joffrey,” Mya said simply. “I never wanted to say anything when you were with him but Joffrey Lannister can be so full of himself.”

Sansa decided she’d had too much wine to think about the topic logically. 

“I don’t even know if Jon likes me,” she explained. “And I went on a break with Joffrey because my dad died and he just…he didn’t seem to even care. I tried talking to him and he always acted like I was wasting his time.”

At this point she began to cry, her voice breaking and tears filling her eyes. Myranda hugged her close and told Sansa how sorry she was and that she only wanted things to get better for her. Sansa wiped at her eyes and gulped down the last of her wine in a long swallow, wondering how she had ended up here, drunk on a weeknight and crying about her father’s murder. She had never expected for this to happen to her family, but it had, and every day she had to wake up and acknowledge the loss her family had experienced.

“I’m going to take a shower and then I’m going to bed,” she explained, wiping at her eyes.

Sansa got in the shower and tried to wash every speck of unhappiness form her body. She washed her face, washed her hair, and scrubbed at her skin until it was pink and the bathroom mirror was completely fogged up.

\--

After a few days Sansa was able to think about her situation with Joffrey more clearly. Eventually she realized that no part of her wanted to continue their relationship, it was only the matter of talking to him and making it official that scared her. 

In between her classes on Thursday Sansa met up with Jon at the cafeteria, the both of them seated at an out-of-the-way table. Sansa was glad to have a chance for them to meet up, especially since he’d been busier with the start of the fall semester—he’d been given more responsibilities in the lab he worked in.

“It probably sounds like boring work, but I’ve learned a lot from Professor Lannister.”

“Tyrion Lannister?” Sansa asked.

“Yeah, he teaches in the criminal justice department. He’s a lot nicer than what I expected,” Jon said.

Joffrey had always told her stories about his “useless” uncle Tyrion who taught at their school and wasn’t interested in the family business. The way Joffrey had described him, Sansa expected Professor Lannister to be the kind of eccentric teacher with tenure that no one wanted to have as a instructor, but as Jon explained the type of research Joffrey’s uncle did her opinions about him began to change.

Sansa didn’t have much time before her next class, but when she stood up to leave, instead of grabbing her bag and walking away, she impulsively decided to give Jon a hug. For the first second he seemed surprised, then he quickly recovered, his arms fitting around her waist while his smell enveloped her. 

Feeling short of breath, Sansa said, “See you later.”

Jon gave her the half-smile that made her feel fluttery and flushed along her neck. As she walked to her business class, the afternoon sun warming her skin, Sansa couldn’t stop thinking about how it had felt to have his body so close to hers.

\--

Sansa tried to focus on the required reading for one of her classes, her back against the wooden headboard and her textbook spread across her lap. The sound of her phone ringing broke her concentration. Picking it up, she swiped “answer” before fully reading the name of the caller.

“Hello?”

“Sansa, it’s me. We need to talk.”

Joffrey’s voice came over the line, making her wish she had taken a better look at the caller ID before answering.

“Okay,” she started, but Sansa could barely get a word out before he cut her off.

“I’ve seen you out with other guys, Sansa. We may be on a break but that doesn’t mean you can mess around behind my back—“

“I think we should break up,” she said.

The conversation didn’t last very long after that. Sansa could tell that Joffrey was mad at her, that he’d called her expecting to hear her apologize and beg to stay with him, and when the words “break up” came out of her mouth he became increasingly angry.

“Is this what the whole break was about? You used your dead dad as an excuse to cheat on me—“

Before Joffrey could say anything else Sansa hung up the phone. Breathing heavily, she stood up and grabbed her purse, putting on the first pair of shoes she could find and walking out the front door.

\--

Jon was sitting in the living room with his laptop and a couple of books from the library, trying to get ahead on a paper that was due next Wednesday. He didn’t want to spend all of Tuesday night working on this assignment, and he didn’t want to spend his weekend working on it either, which is why he’d decided to start on it early.

His decision may have been rational but it did very little to motivate him. Sam and his girlfriend Gilly were making dinner in the kitchen, with Ghost watching them from his spot on the floor, just waiting for either of them to drop a scrap of food. Jon looked over the pages he’d marked and tried to find a quote, but he dropped the book and stood up once he heard someone knocking at the door.

“I’ll get it,” he called, but Jon doubted Sam and Gilly even heard him. Sam was telling a particularly gruesome story about one of the cadavers he’d dissected in the lab, his story occasionally being drowned out by Gilly’s disgusted reaction. 

Opening the door, Jon said, “Sansa.”

“Hey,” she said, her car keys still in hand. “Sorry if you’re busy, I just wanted to talk.”

“Yeah, come in,” he said. “Why don’t we go in my room? That is, unless you want to hear Sam talk about the body parts he chopped up at school.”

Sansa giggled, the small laugh visibly taking away some of the tension in her shoulders. She followed him into his bedroom and Jon had a moment of panic, wondering if he’d left out any dirty laundry. Thankfully there was nothing embarrassing upon first inspection. Sitting next to Sansa on the bed, he felt a strong shiver of heat over his skin, his mind instantly reminding him that they were alone in his bedroom and Sansa Stark was sitting awfully close to him.

Pushing her hair behind her ear, she said, “I got a call from Joffrey earlier. He got mad at me because he’d seen us out together.”

Jon had to force himself to maintain a neutral expression. He’d known all along that Sansa had a boyfriend, it was one of those pesky thoughts that nagged at him whenever he started to think about her, but he had never been sure if Sansa was interested in him. Joffrey Lannister was exactly the kind of boy she had dated back in high school, and Jon had wondered more than once if Sansa was only hanging out with him because he understood what it was like to loose a parent.

“I broke up with him,” she said, her hand inching closer to his.

“Why?” Jon asked, his voice sounding ragged to his own ears.

“Because spending time with you is more important to me than going out with Joffrey,” Sansa shared, her cheeks flushing pink.

Jon laced his fingers with hers, looking her directly in the eye for a long, heady moment before he leaned forward and kissed her. He brought his hand up to cup her face, catching Sansa’s lower lip between his and brushing his thumb over the apple of her cheek. Slipping his arm around her waist, Jon could feel her tremble next to him, one of her hands fisted in his shirtfront. She ran her fingers through his hair, making him shiver when her nails dragged over his scalp.

They kissed like that for some time, with Sansa practically pulled into his lap. Jon held her close to him and marveled at how small she was, at how soft her skin of her lower back felt as he eased his hand under the hem of her shirt. He pulled away and kissed her neck over and over, pulling at the band that held her ponytail in place and sending her hair cascading down her back.

His lips against her neck, Jon said, “I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time.”

Sansa pulled his face to hers and brushed his lower lip with her tongue, making him feel like there was molten heat curling in his belly. Jon eased her down until they were both laying on the bed, her arms around his neck while he tried not to put too much weight on her, a moan slipping out of him when she eased her legs apart and shirted his hips between them.

Jon was sure that she felt his arousal, but it felt impossibly good when her hands slipped beneath the hemline of his shirt and explored his back, mapping their way across his spine and shoulders. He kissed her and held her close, forcing himself not to grind against her or push her into anything too quickly.

When Sansa pulled away from him and took off her shirt, revealing a pale pink bra with lace on the cups, it became much more difficult for Jon to take things slowly. He shed his T-shirt and reveled in the feeling of her skin against his, kissing her breasts through her bra and laving his tongue against her neck. Sansa sighed and rocked her hips against his. Still confined to his jeans, Jon could feel his cock growing painfully hard, her little sighs and soft, keening moans making him want to slide his hand inside her pants. 

When Sansa reached between them and stroked him through the front of his jeans Jon pressed his face into her neck, rolling his hips against her touch. The sound of her phone interrupted them, giving him a much-needed moment to collect himself, to remember that this was Robb’s sister and Ned Stark’s daughter and that he could not sleep with her now, no matter how much he wanted to.

“It’s my mom,” she said to him, answering the phone.

His breathing slowly returning to normal, Jon watched Sansa’s expression quickly change from calm to distressed. She sat on the edge of the bed in silence, her hand clutching the phone tightly while Jon thought of all the things the call could possibly be about.

“Okay, okay mom I’ll be there tomorrow. I love you too.”

Her shoulders hunched, she hung up the phone and turned to him, her eyes wide with shock.

“Robert Baratheon has been arrested for my father’s murder.”

\--


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit angsty, but I promise the whole fic won't be this way.

Holding his head up with his hand, his elbow braced on the surface of his desk, Tyrion Lannister stared at the computer screen across form him. He had grades to enter, emails to answer, and lots of data to sort through upstairs in the lab, but he was currently reading the text of an article that had yet to be printed. James Bronn, one of the editors at the local news division of the Raleigh _News & Observer_, had sent it to him in advance. Strictly speaking, Bronn could loose his job if his editor became aware of their arrangement, but Tyrion rewarded Bronn with regular information on other influential members of the local community in exchange for the final word on what could be printed about the Lannister family. With Jaime’s bid for governor gaining more and more attention it had proven to be a useful situation.

A nock sounded on his office door. Expecting it to be Jon or Penny, Tyrion didn’t look away from his computer, instead calling out, “Come in.”

Glancing up, he instantly sat up in his chair.

“Dad, I wasn’t expecting you,” Tyrion said.

“I presume I don’t need an appointment to speak with you,” Tywin said, unsmiling. “I just left from a meeting with the dean of the pharmacy school and I decided to come by your office—I got your message.”

“That—yes. I just got an article from Bronn, it’s about Robert Baratheon’s arrest, there’s material in here linking you by name.”

His father’s frown deepened as Tyrion read the article aloud.

> ROBERT BARATHEON, HEIR TO BARATHEON INDUSTRIES, IS ARRESTED ON CHARGES OF MANSLAUGHTER IN STARK CASE
> 
> By James Bronn  
>  _Staff Writer_
> 
> On Thursday September 4, 2014 Robert Baratheon, the heir to tech giant Baratheon Industries, was arrested on charges of manslaughter in the case of Eddard Stark, the local attorney who was shot in May this year. Baratheon was not initially named as a suspect by investigators, but local authorities had already been investigating him for charges related to tax evasion. Investigators determined that Baratheon had an argument with Stark only a few days before Stark’s death, but the subject of the argument is unknown.
> 
> Baratheon cooperated with authorities in the Stark investigation and is still the subject of an ongoing tax evasion case. Baratheon made his initial court appearance at the Wake County Courthouse on Friday September 5, 2014 and was held on $1,000,000 cash-only bail, with the stipulation that Baratheon surrender his passport, agree to stay in North Carolina, and submit to electronic monitoring. 
> 
> As recently as July 2014 Baratheon was continuing to engage in large-scale business ventures, specifically a much-talked-about deal with Lannister Pharmaceuticals, despite his worsening legal circumstances. Baratheon was thought to be a rising star in the tech industry when he initially took on the CEO position of Bartheon Industries in 2006. Robert Baratheon’s brother, Stannis Baratheon, has been named as the current CEO.

His father sat stiffly in his armchair, his hands curled into fists over the armrests. 

“We will have to take it out,” Tywin said pensively.

“It’s less than a sentence,” Tyrion challenged. “I don’t see the harm. There have already been plenty of articles on that deal.”

“But none of those articles were related to Ned Stark,” his father said darkly. “I don’t want one word in the press that could link the Lannister name to Stark’s death, there’s too much at stake. Perhaps your work has allowed you to forget about the realities that Jaime is facing, but let me tell you that his opponents will use any information they can to discredit our family, and whether you think it’s necessary or not we _will_ control any mention of the Lannister name in relation to that case. Are we clear?”

“Yes.”

“Good. While I’m here there’s another topic we need to discuss.”

Tyrion pinched the bridge of his nose between his eyebrows. “Please, continue,” he said, despite the building headache behind his eyes.

“You need to consider leaving this position in the spring.”

Tyrion’s headache went from bad to excruciating.

“Do you have any idea how hard I worked to get this position? I have tenure, I can’t just leave.”

“There will be a position open to you at Lannister Pharmaceuticals and a substantial pay raise from what you earn here. Jaime’s leaving the company and I need one of you with me at Research Triangle Park.”

“I don’t know the first thing about the pharmaceutical industry—I studied criminal justice in school. Besides, even if could learn, why should I walk away from my career? And why are you pushing Jaime into this? He never wanted to go into politics.”

Tywin’s nostrils flared, his cold eyes never leaving Tyrion’s face.

“Jaime is my son and he will do what is best for the family, the same as you. You are my _son_ , Tyrion, even if you refuse to act like it. I’ve allowed you to remain here for too long, it’s time you thought of what’s good for the family instead of only considering your personal ambitions. I placed no limits on what you could study in school, but perhaps I was wrong to do so, because you have consistently chosen to shirk your responsibilities to the Lannister name. Your mother would have never allowed you to act this way.”

Gritting his teeth, Tyrion said, “I wouldn’t know what she would have allowed me to do, since I never met her.”

His father stood from his chair, his expression positively arctic. 

“I don’t have time to argue with you about this, but rest assured that you can choose to leave voluntarily, or you can be forced to leave. We’ll speak more on this later.”

Tywin let himself out, closing the door behind him with a soft click, leaving Tyrion in a shocked, angry mess.

\--

Sansa sat at the kitchen table in her pajamas, her hands around the mug of warm tea her mother had just made. It was late, the small clock on the microwave reading half past eleven, and her uncle Benjen was adding bourbon to his drink while her mother joined them at the table.

“Why are you up so late?” Sansa asked. She was used to seeing her mother go to bed around ten o’clock.

“I don’t sleep much anymore,” her mother said, and Sansa believed her. Catelyn Stark had dark circles under her eyes that never seemed to go away, and Sansa thought she looked thinner than ever before.

“Have you talked to the doctor about it?”

“Yes, they gave me some medicine, but I don’t like the way it makes me feel. Whenever I fall asleep I dream about your father, or I dream that something’s happened to both of us and there’s no one to take care of you kids.”

Sansa reached across the table and squeezed her mother’s hand. Her uncle Benjen put his arm around Catelyn’s shoulders, patting her on the back, saying, “Come on Cat, you know that would never happen.”

“I pray that it doesn’t,” she said, taking a long sip of her tea.

The news about Robert Baratheon had been hard for Sansa to understand. She never would have imagined that her father’s closest friend would have anything to do with his death, but it was true that he drank an awful lot, and Sansa remembered her father saying that, at times, Robert could have a nasty temper. Even so, she didn’t think Mr. Baratheon would ever do that to her father, no matter how angry he got.

“You know, I told Ned to go work for Robert only a week before he passed,” her mother said.

“Why?” Sansa asked. She’d never heard anyone in the family mention this, and she didn’t remember hearing her parents talk about anyone leaving their job. 

“I thought Jon was working him too hard. He was so busy with that case, he was afraid that something bad was going to happen—I don’t think he ever expected to be hurt, but Ned knew there were going to be problems. I told him he should leave. We fought about it but he decided to stay where he was.”

“Jesus Christ, I told him to stay,” her uncle Benjen said, looking devastated. “Ned knew that the case he was working on could get big, that it would effect some very important people, he understood that came with risks, and I told him that he was doing the right thing.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Catelyn said. “None of us could have.”

She dabbed at her eye with a tissue while Sansa watched in stunned silence. She had no memory of any hint that her parents were fighting, or even that her father had taken on a dangerous case. _If I had just asked him about it_ , Sansa thought, desperately wishing that she could change the past.

Finding her voice, she said, “Who would have been hurt by the case?”

“They don’t know. No one can find the files,” her uncle said darkly.

“Do you think Mr. Baratheon did it?” Sansa asked, looking to both her mother and her uncle.

“No,” Catelyn said, sighing. “Robert is many things, but a murderer? I don’t think so.”

Her hand tightly clutching the mug in front of her, Sansa asked, “Then who did?”

\--

Sansa watched her sister’s field hockey team while they played against a rival school, her elbows on her knees, her mom, Gendry, Rickon and Bran joining her on the bleachers. The sun was warm on her skin and Sansa had to shade her eyes to see the name STARK stitched onto the back of Arya’s jersey.

“She’s really good,” Sansa said, watching her sister score a goal for her team. She could see Arya’s dark ponytail dart across the field, her lean form outpacing the other girls.

“Yeah, she really is,” Gendry said, concentrating on the game.

Sansa liked Gendry. He had been everything that Joffrey wasn’t when their father had died—Gendry had even helped out with looking after Rickon after school, something that had certainly earned her mother’s gratitude. Seeing the way Gendry and Arya acted together made Sansa wish that things with Joffrey had worked out differently. 

Sansa remembered a time when Joffrey Lannister had been sweet and fun to be around, when he had impressed her with his big house and expensive gifts. Eventually everything had changed. There had been a several times when, during an argument, Joffrey would throw things around the room, yelling at her and grabbing her arm to make her sit still and listen. He’d never thrown anything directly at her, but his temper frightened Sansa. She had never seen her parents fight like that. Her mom and dad had never even spanked her as a child and when Joffrey had grabbed her that first time she’d been more surprised than upset. 

Startled by the buzzing in her pocket, Sansa looked away from the game to check her phone. She had a text from Jon asking if she was alright, if she wanted to talk about what had happened on Thursday. Biting her lower lip, Sansa remained seated while the rest of her family jumped up to cheer for Arya, who had just scored the winning goal for her field hockey team. 

She stuffed her phone in her pocket and forced herself to think about what had happened when she had gone to Jon’s house. If Sansa was being honest with herself then she had to admit that she liked Jon Snow, despite him being Robb’s friend and several years older than her. When Jon looked at her she felt like her whole body was flushed and tingling, like he could pick out every thought that entered her head with his pale gray eyes. She had wanted to kiss him, but a part of her kept screaming no, that she didn’t have time to think about boys when her father was dead and never coming back, when she would never find out who had murdered him. There was someone out there that had taken her father from her and thinking about Jon Snow and how nice it had felt to be close to him wasn’t going to change any of that.

A year ago Sansa would never have imagined that her father would be shot outside his own office, but he was gone now and no matter how hard she tried Sansa couldn’t see the world the same way again. What if something happened to her mother too? What if Jon got bored with her or tried to hurt her like Joffrey?

Arya had Gendry, Robb had gone to South Carolina for work, and her younger brothers still had their friends. When she really thought about it, Sansa had never felt so alone. The only person who didn’t seem to be going anywhere was her mother. Even Joffrey, who had pursued her for a year before they’d dated, had gotten sick of her and only held on to her so fiercely for the sake of his ego.

As they walked back to the car, everyone congratulating Arya for how well her team had played, Sansa decided to ignore any more messages from Jon. She wasn’t ready, she decided, and she might not be for a long time.

\--

Jon stood across from the clerk at the Raleigh Police Department, waiting to be let into the empty conference room where one of the officers had stacked boxes of case files for him to look over. He was here in an official capacity as a researcher from the university, meaning the authorities were more than willing to allow him to look over otherwise sensitive documents, especially when he mentioned that the data was for a study that would be published by Tyrion Lannister.

An officer looked at his driver’s license before unlocking the door for him.

Smiling, he said, “You can look over anything you need, but we can’t allow any copies to be made. Let Marsh know if you have any questions.”

Officer Marsh was seated at a desk in the hallway working through a stack of papers. Jon said his thanks and entered the conference room, dropping his bag on the floor and looking over the many boxes he would have to sort through. The paper that Professor Lannister was writing was specifically focused on homicides and it was Jon’s job to look through the records of solved and unsolved homicides and collect basic data from them, like the date, the biographical information of the victim and the offender, the amount of time it took to solve the crime, and other information that may be significant to the case.

He pulled out his laptop and opened the spreadsheet that he’d be working with. It took him hours to make it through the solved homicides, so by the time he got to the unsolved cases his eyes were tired and his back was sore from being hunched over his computer. Jon rubbed at his temples and continued to thumb through the papers in front of him, cataloguing some open homicide cases that dated as far back as 1994.

He opened one of the files and felt his stomach drop to his knees. Inside the thick folder a picture of Ned Stark was starring back at him, along with all the biographical information that Jon already knew. When Professor Lannister had asked him to collect data on the past twenty years of homicides Jon hadn’t thought he’d be shown such recent information. 

Glancing around the room, Jon looked at the ceiling to check if there were security cameras. He had not been given permission to make copies of any of the material he was being shown, but Jon didn’t need a Xerox machine to save these files, only his camera phone. There was a small window in the door to the conference room but no one had come by to check on him for hours now. Jon positioned his phone and waited for the camera to focus before taking a picture of every page of the case file, even the grisly crime scene photos that made him feel nauseous just to look at. He worked as quickly as he dared, his shoulders tense as he tried to copy every piece of evidence the police had while still getting good-quality images, periodically looking up to make sure no one was watching him through the narrow pane of glass.

The entire time he sat there Jon expected an officer to burst in and take his phone away, but no one did. Once he’d backed up all the images to his computer he returned to his official work, hoping that no one would discover what he had done, knowing that he could be in serious trouble if anyone, even Professor Lannister, found out.

The fear of punishment should have been enough to stop him, but Jon remembered the look on Robb’s face at his father’s funeral, the devastation Sansa still clearly felt, and the shock of hearing that Robert Baratheon had been named responsible for Ned Stark’s murder. As an Army Ranger he had been forced to kill countless people, often without ever learning their names, and it had never felt like justice to him. Jon wanted justice for the Starks more than anything, and he felt obligated to do whatever he could to make it happen.

\--

_Can we talk?_

Sansa looked down at her cell phone, her bottom lip between her teeth. Jon had sent her a text on Monday and she hadn’t responded to it. It was now Wednesday evening and she really was starting to regret ignoring him for so long, he deserved better than how she was acting, especially considering what had happened the last time they’d seen each other.

As silly as it was, it made Sansa blush just thinking about what they’d done in his bed.

_Ok. Want to meet somewhere?_

Through text, she arranged with Jon to meet tomorrow at the dog park in town. All during the next day she thought about what she would say to Jon when she saw him, wondering how she could explain how she felt when she wasn’t sure if she was making the right decision at all. As she was walking to the gate, Sansa played with the ring she always wore on her right hand, so caught up in her own thoughts that she almost ran into Jon once she got inside the park.

“Hey,” he said, looking especially good in a dark shirt and jeans. Jon’s light eyes stood out against his dark hair and Sansa had to remind herself not to kiss him.

“Hi,” she replied, feeling like her cheeks were burning. Ghost ran up to her and provided an easy distraction, licking her hand and wagging his tail excitedly until she petted him.

“Shoo,” Jon said, nudging Ghost toward the group of dogs already at the park.

The pair of them wordlessly walked to a bench in the shade of the trees, stepping on the few leaves that had just begun to collect on the ground. Sansa twirled a strand of hair around her finger while Ghost outran some of the other dogs, his white coat easy to pick out among the browns and tans, his excited barks a welcome distraction from why they were really there.

“I’m sorry if I rushed you into anything,” Jon said, watching her carefully.

She wanted to take his hand or feel his arms around her, anything to make this conversation easier.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Sansa assured him. “I came to your house. I wanted to…I wanted to do those things with you. Jon, I should be the one apologizing.”

He looked like he was about to object but she held up her hand so she could finish, her heart beating wildling, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to explain it unless she forced herself to keep going.

“I haven’t been fair to you,” she said quietly. “I wanted to kiss you, but at the same time I know I shouldn’t. I like you. I really do. I just, I can’t do this right now.”

Sansa looked at her hands, the pair of them twisted up in her lap. She felt the sting and burn in her eyes that signaled she was about to cry.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, a tear rolling down her cheek.

Jon put his arm around her, his hand rubbing her shoulders, bringing her closer to his warmth.

“I understand,” he said.

Sansa wiped at her eyes and stood up. She couldn’t let him touch her or comfort her or hold her hand. If she did any of those things Sansa knew she wouldn’t be able to just leave, not before changing her mind and dragging Jon into her life, with all its problems and uncertainties. 

“I have to go.”

She didn’t wait for him to say anything. Sansa left the dog park before Jon could catch up with her, knowing that she’d done what she had to but hating herself for it all the same.

 _This is all my fault_ , she thought, shutting the door to her car and shoving her keys into the ignition. She had been the one to break up with Joffrey, to go to Jon’s house in the middle of the night, to kiss him when they were alone in his bed, to run out when she got the call from her mother and to ignore him all weekend when she was feeling so confused.

 _Jon deserves someone who can be happy, someone who doesn’t have a dead father and a life that’s falling apart,_ Sansa thought, biting down on the inside of her cheek.

When she got to her apartment she was relieved to find it empty. Sansa didn’t think she could have talked to Myranda about this, not now, when she couldn’t stop the tears that had begun streaming down her face. She went into her bedroom and shut the door, wanting to call Jon and take it all back.

Starring at her ceiling, Sansa wondered, _if I did the right thing then why does it feel so horrible?_


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm heading to the beach so I figured I'd go ahead and post this chapter. Thank you to everyone who has left comments/given feedback--I really appreciate it.

Jon scrolled through the pictures he’d taken of the Stark case file, pausing to look at the crime scene photos despite the hollow, unpleasant feeling in his gut. He hadn’t finished reading all the paperwork he’d photographed, there was more information than he’d expected to find, and yet he continued to look at the images of Mr. Stark’s wounds over and over again, unable to determine what, exactly, he was troubled by.

_Something is wrong here_ , Jon thought, looking at the pictures that had been taken of Ned Stark’s black Audi. 

As an Army Ranger Jon had seen what high caliber weapons did to people, the wounds Mr. Stark had suffered certainly reflected that, but the interior of his car looked undamaged. In Afghanistan Jon had seen rounds tear through men and continue through the wall behind them. He wasn’t an expert in forensics, but the photo he’d taken of the ballistics report stated that the bullets likely came from an old-fashioned Colt .45 revolver, the kind of gun Jon remembered seeing in John Wayne movies as a kid.

“It’s weird to see you here by yourself,” Sam said from the doorway of the cramped kitchen, making himself a cup of coffee despite the late hour.

“Why’s that?” Jon asked, not looking away from his computer screen.

“Normally Sansa’s here with you.”

Jon hadn’t mentioned anything to Sam about Sansa and their unsuccessful talk at the park. He was sure that his long-time friend had noticed a change in his behavior—for the past two weeks Jon had spent more time in the lab than usual and he had never been so ahead on his school work. It was easier, he found, to keep busy when you didn’t want to think about something painful.

After a period of silence from Jon, Sam joined him in the living room, sipping from his steaming mug.

“Did something happen between you two?” he asked, making an effort to sound casual. 

“I don’t think we’re going to be hanging out much anymore,” Jon explained. “Remember that night she came over, it was late, you were telling Gilly about the spinal cord incident—“

“Yeah, I remember,” Sam said, shuddering.

“Anyway, some…things…happened between us and I didn’t hear from her for a while afterwards. Eventually we talked and she doesn’t think we should see each other anymore.”

“Wow,” he replied, clearly surprised. “Can someone break up with you when you haven’t even started dating yet?”

“I guess so,” Jon said.

Nearly spilling his scalding coffee on the floor, Sam asked, “Hang on, are you looking at pictures of a _dead body?_ ”

“It’s pictures from a crime scene,” Jon said quickly. “Why do you care? You cut open cadavers all the time.”

Purposefully looking away from the computer screen, Sam said, “But that’s different—it’s for class. We’re in a lab. Most of the time it doesn’t even feel like they’re…”

“Real?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. What’s that for, anyway?”

Jon dragged a hand through his hair, sighing. His eyes felt tired from so much reading and the tension in his shoulders had begun to spread to his spine.

“It’s the case file for Ned Stark’s homicide,” Jon said.

“What do you mean ‘case file?’” Sam asked. “Like the file that belongs to the police?”

“Yes. I had to go to the police department to collect information from old records, it’s for a study that professor Lannister is doing.”

“And you just decided to steal a file or two while you were there? Jon, can’t you be arrested for that?”

Sam began to speak even more quickly, his worried tone picking up steam.

“Won’t they realize you have this? And what if the school finds out? You could get kicked out of the UNC System—“

“No one’s going to find out,” Jon said evenly, appearing calmer than he truly felt. “I didn’t steal it, I just took pictures of the pages. No one saw me do it, I was in a room by myself, there weren’t even any security cameras. I checked.”

Sam sank down beside him on the couch, his cup of coffee forgotten in his panicked state. “But why take the risk? Let the police figure out who killed Ned Stark. They already arrested his friend—that Baratheon guy.”

“I met Robert Baratheon at the wake, he didn’t seem like a murderer to me. Just an old drunk who apparently doesn’t pay his taxes,” Jon said dryly.

“But how do you know? He could be behind this whole thing and now you’ve done something you could get in a lot of trouble for.”

Jon shook his head, unsure of how to make Sam understand why he’d done something so undeniably reckless.

“At first they thought Jon Arryn did it, but he was Mr. Stark’s brother in law. They were friends for years. Then the police changed their minds and arrested Robert Baratheon but since then there’s been talk of throwing the case out for lack of evidence. It seems like they just want to be seen doing something, even if they haven’t found the right guy yet.”

“Maybe,” Sam admitted. “But why waste time bringing in the wrong people?”

Jon shrugged. “It’s a high profile crime. A well-known attorney gets gunned-down outside his office in downtown Raleigh after he’s taken on an important case. You don’t hear about that happening very often. If they don’t solve this one people will definitely notice.”

“I guess that’s true.”

Angling his computer screen toward Sam, Jon said, “See this picture of the car’s interior?”

The image showed bloodstains along the tan upholstery where the body had been, but there was no damage to the seats, the windows, or anything else in the vehicle.

“A Colt .45 should have torn through all of this,” Jon said pensively, gesturing to the photograph. “The wounds definitely look like they came from a high caliber weapon, but why wouldn’t there be structural damage anywhere else?”

“The reports definitely say that type of gun was used?” Sam asked.

Jon clicked on the ballistics report. “See, right there.”

“It could just be incompetence, or someone could be lying,” Sam said, concern clearly visible on his round face.

Sam’s words made Jon’s stomach sink lower and lower. At that moment a thought occurred to him that he hadn’t considered before, one that, ordinarily, he would dismiss as paranoid and unfounded, but the inconsistencies in the case file had left him rattled. 

_What if the killer knows someone on the inside?_ Jon wondered. _Or several people. Mr. Stark had just taken on a big case—it’s clear that whoever it would hurt decided to put an end to his investigation._

Jon decided to go to bed shortly after that. Physically he felt tired, he’d gone running with Ghost that morning and attended a full day of classes and lab hours after that, but sleep eluded him. Instead of mulling over the details of the case his thoughts turned to more personal matters. Jon stared at the ceiling above his bed, wondering if he would ever get another chance with Sansa or if he would pull up facebook one day only to see a picture of her with a new boyfriend.

_Or with Joffrey,_ he thought, bitterly remembering how Joffrey Lannister had been in high school and recoiling at the thought of someone so irritating dating Sansa.

Jon sighed into his pillow and rolled over once again, wishing that he could talk to Sansa about what he had seen in the case file, even if it was just on friendly terms. He felt like he owed it to her to share what he’d found out, in spite of the fact that it would be painful for him to spend time with her only as her brother’s friend.

He had thought several times about what he would say to Sansa if she ever changed her mind and decided to talk to him again, but in that moment the only thing Jon wanted to tell her was that he missed her. It was true. In the past couple weeks Jon had thought about her quite a lot, wishing that things had worked out differently between them, that they had gotten to know one another at a happier time in her life, that her father’s murder didn’t hang over the pair of them every time they saw each other.

However, in spite of all the surrounding circumstances once they had gotten to know one another over the summer he had discovered how much they had in common. They both liked the same sad, overly emotional films that Robb and his other friends hated to sit through. One weekend they had watched _Never Let Me Go_ together and, even though Jon had already read the book, he’d felt himself get misty-eyed toward the end, only to glance over and see Sansa furtively wiping at her eyes.

After obsessing over Mr. Stark’s death for the past week Jon wanted to share what he’d found with someone. He didn’t want to call Robb, all the way in South Carolina with his fancy job and Jeyne, his new girlfriend, only to dredge up the death of Robb’s father. Every time that Jon talked to his oldest friend he got the impression that Robb was just trying to move on with his life, to accept the unfortunate new reality for his family. For Sansa and himself it was different. Jon was only a short drive from where Mr. Stark’s office used to be, he saw developments about the case every time he looked at the news, and Sansa had even confessed to him that people sometimes asked her questions at school about her father’s murder.

_It’s like he isn’t even a real person to them,_ she’d said, her breathing coming in unsteady gasps, her arms crossed over her chest.

Jon didn’t remember what he had told her in reply. In his opinion, whatever it was certainly hadn’t been comforting enough. There was nothing he could do to bring her father back, Jon knew, but he might be able to catch the person who took Mr. Stark away from them all. Not for himself or for revenge, but for Sansa. At least he could give her that.

\--

Jon tugged at the collar of his slate-gray dress shirt, feeling uncomfortable in the heat. Even at the end of September it was still hot in North Carolina, the temperature warm enough to make his button down and long pants feel oppressive, the air having cooled only marginally since the sun went down.

He knocked on the door and smiled reflexively when professor Lannister opened it.

“Come in,” he said, waving Jon inside. “You’re right on time, as usual.”

“I guess that’s one of those habits you pick up in the service,” Jon said sheepishly.

Tyrion chuckled and led him into the kitchen where he introduced Jon to his wife Shae. She had dark had and black eyes and she was dishing out what looked to be a wonderful meal of jambalaya and corn bread.

They all sat down at the polished hardwood table but there was a knock on the door before the food was even served. A small grimace passed over professor Lannister’s face before he removed his napkin from his lap and pushed his chair away from the table, the chair legs scraping loudly against the hardwood floor.

“I’ll get that,” Tyrion said, leaving his seat.

Jon heard the front door open and close, along with the deeper tones of another man’s voice. A few moments later professor Lannister popped his head in the kitchen.

“Dad stopped by to talk about something, it shouldn’t take too long. Don’t wait to eat on my account,” he assured them.

Jon had spent enough time around Tyrion Lannister by now to be able to tell when he had something on his mind. Jon also noticed that, despite being family, Tyrion’s father didn’t take the time to say hello to Shae, his own daughter-in-law. It was the kind of behavior that his mother would have called rude. 

“Do you mind if I use the rest room?” Jon asked.

“Not at all,” Shae said kindly. “The bathroom is at the end of the hallway.”

“Thanks.”

Jon walked quietly down the dim hall, passing by a barely cracked door that was most likely professor Lannister’s office. He really did need to use the bathroom, but at the mention of Ned Stark’s name Jon crept back to just outside the office door, listening hard and hoping that Shae or professor Lannister didn’t catch him in such an awkward position.

“…every time we’re mentioned with the Stark case in the papers.”

“Why does it matter?” he heard Tyrion ask. “Robert Baratheon doesn’t pay his taxes, so what? How were you supposed to know that? They can’t possibly say you’re connected to his poor financial decisions.”

His voice sounding incredibly harsh, Jon heard Tyrion’s father say, “The more they look into Robert Baratheon’s finances the better their chances are at seeing a connection to _us_. There are financial ties between Baratheon Industries and Lannister Pharmaceuticals that would be difficult to explain. We’ll handle the editor later, I’ve got someone in mind to take his place, but that’s not why I came here. I need you to confirm that you’ll be leaving your teaching post by the spring.”

Jon’s mouth fell open in shock. He quickly covered it with his hand, listening for professor Lannister’s reply even more intently, his ear practically glued to the wall.

“ _Confirm?_ I never agreed to come work for you—I still haven’t made a decision.”

“Well you’ve run out of time,” Tyrion’s father said sharply. “I’m expecting you to take over Jaime’s position in January. Plan accordingly.”

Jon walked to the bathroom as quickly as he could while trying to remain completely silent. Once he got to the bathroom he turned on the tap, letting the sink fill with cold water before splashing his face with it, trying to clear his head before having to face professor Lannister across the dinner table. Jon had heard about Tywin Lannister in the papers: he was one of the wealthiest businessmen in North Carolina, the southeast even, and obviously someone with connections.

Wiping his face with a monogrammed hand towel, Jon thought about what Tyrion’s father had said about Lannister Pharmaceuticals and Baratheon Industries. It sounded like the Lannisters were involved in something a little more serious than tax evasion, and whatever that might be it seemed like Tyrion’s father was especially concerned about being linked to Mr. Stark’s death, to the point where he had arranged for an editor to be replaced. 

_An editor where?_ Jon wondered.

His knuckles turning white, he gripped the edge of the bathroom sink with both hands, thinking about Mr. Stark’s case against wealthy, powerful people. Jon took a deep breath and left the bathroom, certain for the first time that taking those case files had been the right decision after all.

\--


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left comments, I love seeing what you guys have to say after each chapter :D

Tyrion took a long sip from his beer, glad to have a moment of peace away from work or his father. The sun had only just set and the September air was finally cool enough to enjoy. His brother Jaime sat across from him on the terrace, the pair of them seated with a view of the back garden. A grape vine had snaked its way along the wrought iron fence—even without any ripe fruit it lent a stately air to the property.

“I hate to spoil this, but I did come over here to talk business with you,” Tyrion confessed.

“What business?” Jaime asked, looking like an advertisement for Ralph Lauren in the receding light. Tyrion could never understand how his brother always looked so effortlessly put together.

Sighing, he put down his beer and said, “Father has been insisting that I take over your position once the campaign starts.”

“Oh,” Jaime said easily. “He told me about that. I’m the one who suggested you, you know. I’ve always found the job a bit dull but you’d be perfect for it.”

Tyrion hadn’t been aware of that little fact. “I’ve come to realize that I will be working for Lannister Pharmaceuticals whether I want to or not, but I need to talk to you about the specifics of the Baratheon deal. Ever since this thing happened with Stark he’s been up in arms over it. Is there anything there that I should be made aware of?”

His brother raised one eyebrow, saying, “Cersei orchestrated the finer details of that deal, not me, but I remember the agreement itself being all above-board. It’s what father did with the money afterwards that could get us into trouble.”

Tyrion waited for Jaime to continue, his feelings of relaxation now totally forgotten. Jaime gave him a pointed look before slumping into his seat.

“Why do you think there haven’t been any serious challengers for this election?” he asked.

“There’s still time, the campaign won’t really get started until after Christmas…”

“Mine will, but no one else will be starting theirs. No one with a chance of winning, anyway.”

Feeling uncomfortable, Tyrion asked, “What are you really saying?”

“Our father has paid his way into the governor’s mansion with me as a figurehead,” Jaime said tiredly.

“Our father used company money for bribes?” Tyrion asked incredulously.

“I tell you that I’m being manipulated and this is the part you focus on?” his brother asked, sitting up in his seat.

Waving his hand, Tyrion replied, “’Manipulative’ might as well be dad’s middle name. How could he be so reckless with the business?”

“The government looks very closely at wealthy individuals,” Jaime explained. “But a business as large as Lannister Pharmaceuticals has off shore accounts, thousands of investors—money is constantly changing hands. It’s much easier to hide a few illegal transactions in such a huge organization.”

“We can’t let anyone find out about this,” Tyrion said vehemently.

“Once this business with Ned Stark finally blows over we won’t have anything to worry about.”

Tyrion downed the rest of his drink in several long swallows. Learning that his father planned to cheat his way to the head of the state government was a sad realization, but not one that especially surprised him. He did sympathize with his brother. Jaime had the looks, background, and personality to make an excellent politician, but he’d never been especially interested in their father’s schemes. It seemed that Tyrion’s brother had failed to escape this most recent one.

“It’s never too late to drop out of the election,” he offered.

“Please,” Jaime said darkly. “I’d never hear the end of it from Cersei.”

\--

Jon had been to Sansa’s apartment more than once, he’d even met her roommate Myranda, but uncertainty crept up the back of his throat as he stood outside her front door. What if she didn’t want to see him? Jon wasn’t here to pressure Sansa into anything, he only wanted to tell her about what he’d discovered in her father’s case file—if she wanted to hear it. 

He wouldn’t blame her for wanting to forget this whole thing and move on. Often times Jon wondered why he hadn’t been able to put Mr. Stark’s murder behind him and continue with his life, of all people he had hardly been the closest to Ned Stark, but Jon had always looked up to the man as a father and he simply couldn’t forget that.

He shared his shoulders and knocked on the door, forcing himself to take a deep breath. Jon waited for several drawn-out moments, wondering if Sansa was even home, before the front door opened and they were face to face for the first time in weeks. For a second he was caught up in simply looking at her. Jon had forgotten just how many freckles Sansa had across the bridge of her nose.

“Hi,” he said, taking comfort in the fact that she didn’t look upset to see him. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Sure, come inside,” Sansa said.

The situation felt surreal to Jon. He’d spent plenty of time with her in this very apartment, watching movies or making dinner or just talking, and now they were practically estranged from each other. The two of them sitting on her couch, he tugged at a loose thread on his jeans while he thought of what to say.

“I found out something really strange about your dad’s case,” Jon said, unsure of how to explain himself. “I had to go to the police station and look over old case files for Professor Lannister, including files from unsolved homicides. I don’t think the officers realized that I knew your dad, otherwise I doubt they would have let me look at his file. Sansa, what I read didn’t make any sense. I think someone has tampered with the reports on your father’s death.”

Showing obvious concern, Sansa asked, “What do you mean?”

“The case file had a ballistics report. It’s basically a form that says what type of weapon was used—they figure this out by examining the body. It said that a high caliber revolver was used to kill your father, and the wounds definitely look like it, but his car…The inside of his car should have been damaged by the rounds, but it was completely intact. Sansa, I don’t think your father died in that car. He couldn’t have.”

She gave him a look that was partly afraid but also calculating. “You don’t think he was killed somewhere else and placed there, do you?”

“It seems like the most likely scenario to me,” Jon confessed.

Sansa bit her lip before saying, “I talked to my mom and uncle Benjen about what happened just before dad died. My mom said that she hadn’t wanted dad to take the case, that she wanted him to go work for Robert Baratheon instead, but that Mr. Baratheon was tied up with the people who did this.”

Suddenly the pieces all began to fall together. Jon ran a hand through his hair, trying to make sure that he had all the details straight in his head.

“A couple days ago I had dinner at Professor Lannister’s house,” he said. “His father stopped by and I eavesdropped on their conversation. Tywin Lannister is making him leave his teaching position so he can start working for their business. That really surprised me, but that’s not the only thing. Mr. Lannister was really worried about being linked to your father’s death, he even said something about replacing a news editor somewhere for printing stories about it. Then he said that their company had connections ‘that would be hard to explain’ with Baratheon Industries.”

“No,” Sansa said in disbelief. “It couldn’t be. Jon, do you think that my father was bringing a case against Lannister Pharmaceuticals?”

Jon nodded grimly, wishing none of it was true.

“But who could have messed with the case file?” she wondered.

“The only reason professor Lannister was able to get such close access to those case files is because their family has some kind of connection with the Wake County Detective’s Office. Maybe that same connection was involved,” he speculated.

Sansa slumped against the back of the couch, clearly worried.

“They’re just going to get away with it, aren’t they?” she said, looking to him. “Who else is there to catch them? My father couldn’t stop what they were doing and the police certainly won’t.”

“We will,” Jon said. “Your dad died trying to stop the Lannisters from whatever they’re doing. If we give up then it will have been for nothing.”

Sansa wiped at her eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I’m scared, Jon. I don’t know how to stop these people. I’m not a corporate lawyer like dad was—what if they try to hurt us, too?”

Hesitating for just a moment, he reached over and put his arms around her, smoothing her hair away from her face.

“I’m not going to let that happen,” Jon assured her.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If feels so long since I last updated, but I did finish one of my other WIPs, so that's one less commitment to worry about. I hope you guys enjoy the chapter.

Sansa rubbed a dab of foundation into her skin, applying her makeup in the bathroom mirror while she listened for a knock at the door. Tonight she was going to Margaery Tyrell’s twenty-first birthday party. Margaery had been her freshman roommate in the dorms and, despite not seeing her as much since moving off campus, Sansa was excited to see her old friend and do something completely normal for a change. 

She hadn’t spent much time going out this semester. Sansa found that, since her father’s death, she had been dealt one unhappy circumstance after another, from her breakup with Joffrey to her complicated relationship with Jon and the growing distance between herself and Myranda. It had become hard to enjoy the things she used to love, a few of them including attending sorority events and hanging out with Myranda Royce, her one-time closest friend.

Opening her tube of Mac lipstick, Sansa swiped it over her bottom lip and pressed them together. Before she could make any more adjustments she heard a familiar knock on the front door.

She opened it to see Jon in dark jeans and one of his usual button-downs. There was some stubble along the line of his jaw and when he came inside she caught the scent of his cologne, a fully, heady fragrance that made her especially conscious of the fact that they were alone together.

“Hi,” she said, smiling and hoping that her lipstick wasn’t smeared.

“Hey. You look nice,” Jon said, his half-smile making pulse pick up speed.

“I’ve just got to get my bag.”

Sansa ducked into her bedroom, grabbed her purse, and took one last look at herself in the mirror over her dresser, quickly running her fingers through her hair and pulling on her favorite pair of black ankle boots. She’d gone for leggings and a tunic-style shirt—definitely not the type of outfit she would have chosen a year ago when she’d been preoccupied with keeping Joffrey’s attention, afraid of what he’d do if he found her lacking in comparison to other women.

As they walked to the car she was surprised when Jon’s hand brushed against hers more than once. Out of the corner of her eye Sansa caught him looking at her and it made her nerves clamor with activity, like they were strangers on a first date instead of well-acquainted friends. She knew that Jon wasn’t the type of person to hang out with Margaery Tyrell, but she’d been relieved when he had offered to go with her, glad to have someone there in case she ran into Joffrey or any of his fraternity brothers.

The drive to Margaery’s upscale apartment seemed to take an eternity, even if the traffic downtown was nothing out of the ordinary. Biting her lower lip, Sansa was glad for the soothing chatter of the college radio station, grateful for a distraction from her darting thoughts. She forced herself not to play with the ring she wore on her right hand, a nervous habit that Jon would undoubtedly notice.

“We only have to stay as long as you want,” Jon offered, likely picking up on her feelings.

“Thanks,” Sansa replied.

She saw many people at the party that she recognized from the dorm or from classes, but Sansa stuck close to Jon’s side, feeling like a cork bobbing in a sea of people. Margaery gave her a tight hug when she saw her and Sansa made sure to introduce Jon—it was clear from the slow sweep of Margaery’s green eyes that she approved. Before Sansa could object her friend was handing her a strong gin and tonic. Absurdly, she saw that Margaery had gotten one of their friends to be a bartender, with several hundred dollars worth of liquor lined up on the counter.

“Cheers,” Jon said, tapping the rim of her red solo cup with his own.

After several drinks it was easier for Sansa to be around so many strangers. Margaery’s apartment was twice the size of the one Sansa had, but even so there were enough people crowded inside to make the temperature increase uncomfortably. She danced with Jon in a press of other bodies, feeling thankful when he slid his arm around her, pulling her away from a guy she didn’t know who had tried to put both his hands on her hips. Fanning herself, Sansa inclined her head to the balcony and the cool breeze that gusted inside from the open doors.

Jon nodded and followed her outside, grabbing two unopened bottles of Dasani water from a cooler full of drinks. She accepted one gratefully.

Leaning against the railing, Sansa looked at the lit up streets of downtown Raleigh and the cars that passed beneath them, their headlights like fireflies in the dark. Reaching the bottom of her bottle of water, Sansa felt for Jon’s hand, her fingers easily sliding between his. Expecting to see his usual uneven smile, she was surprised at the dark look that crossed his face.

“We should go,” Jon said, holding her hand a little more tightly.

“What?” Sansa asked, but she followed his line of sight to the other end of the balcony, spying a familiar blonde-haired figure surrounded by his taller, stronger friends.

Looking to the doorway, she was disheartened to see that it was blocked by a thick crowed of people, the group of them standing so close together that they’d never be able to get through without drawing attention to themselves.

“Just ignore him,” Jon said, but Sansa had already heard what Joffrey was saying to Boros and Sandor, his fraternity brothers.

“…and have I ever shown you my grandfather’s heirloom handgun?” she heard Joffrey say, his posture denoting pure arrogance.

Sansa turned her face away, hoping that Joffrey wouldn’t notice them standing not ten feet away, but even with her back to him she couldn’t block out the sound of his voice.

“It’s a pearl-handled Colt .45. He took me shooting—it fires perfectly.”

“I bet it could really blow someone’s head off,” she heard Boros say, the sound of his low laughter twisting in her gut.

“I’m sure it’s been used for that in the past,” Sansa heard Joffrey gloat.

Hearing him excitedly talk about shooting had made her head start to spin. Sansa dropped her empty water bottle, firmly holding the railing of the balcony, the lights from traffic several stories below looking impossibly small. She tried to breathe but her chest was tightening inch my inch until she could hardly open her mouth to speak.

Sansa was unaware of what else Joffrey and his friends were saying. She only felt increasing nausea as Jon shouldered his way through people, his hand firmly clutching her own, holding her close while he elbowed their way off the balcony and past the space that had been cleared for dancing. A sharp, painful tingling had started in her arms and legs, like her skin was being raked over with bee stings. Jon kept his arm around her even once they got out into the hall and for that she was grateful, Joffrey’s words roiling in her head.

“He knew I was there,” she said, tears leaking out of the corner of her eyes.

“Forget him, okay? Lets go home.”

A blast of cool air hit them once they stepped out of the elevator and exited the building, the sensation making her feel dizzy, her insides churning beneath her clammy skin. Sansa braced herself against the side of the building, one hand planted on the stucco exterior as she emptied the contents of her stomach on the sidewalk. Jon swept her hair out of the way and rubbed slow circles on her back.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, feeling infinitely better once her stomach was empty. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me—I only had two drinks.”

“Anxiety,” Jon said, his eyes kindly meeting hers.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Her hand on her chest, Sansa felt her heart beat wildly against her ribs, like a bird that was desperate to escape confinement. He lead her to the car and she was grateful when Jon found a plastic bag for her to hold—she would hate to get sick all over his seats.

Even while he drove Jon held her hand, driving more quickly than usual and pulling in front of her apartment building before she’d even realized where they were. She felt disoriented and off-balance, like she’d fallen and whacked her head on the pavement.

“Lets get inside,” he said, leading her home.

Sansa thought that, no matter how she tried to make it up to him, she would never be able to adequately return the kindness that Jon showed her. When they got inside he insisted on staying while she cleaned herself up in the bathroom, pouring her a glass of water while she washed her face clean and brushed her teeth.

Lying down in bed, Sansa was grateful for Jon’s presence, all the while feeling embarrassed that she’d reacted so negatively to seeing Joffrey.

“He was trying to make me upset,” she said, her face pressed into the pillow.

“Do you want me to do something about him?” Jon asked, lightly brushing her hair behind her ear. 

The soft sweep of his fingers felt pleasant against her skin. She turned on her side and let his hand skim her cheek, placing her hand over his and holding it there.

“No, don’t worry about it,” Sansa said. “Thank you for helping me. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been there.”

His thumb smoothing over her cheek, Jon said, “You would have been okay, you’re stronger than you think.”

Sighing, she closed her eyes.

“I just want to go to sleep,” Sansa confessed. “Will you stay?”

“Sure,” Jon said, lying down next to her.

She bundled herself up under the covers, peeking at Jon when he took off his button-down to reveal a plain T-shirt underneath. He kicked off his shoes and stretched out next to her, remaining on top of the sheets.

“Here,” Sansa offered, pulling back the blanket. “It’s alright, we’re just sleeping.”

After a moment Jon followed suit. She could feel his warmth much more clearly under the covers, the sensation comforting her even when she’d turned off the lamp on her bedside table and settled in to sleep. With him beside her Sansa felt safe.


End file.
